


A sticky wicket

by MildredMost



Category: Psmith - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Desk Sex, Dubious Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Wodehouse trash party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: The initiation rituals of the New Asiatic Bank are a mystery to Mike. Luckily for him, Psmith read the handbook.





	A sticky wicket

Mike returned from his afternoon sojourn to a tea-room to a dashed strange atmosphere at the bank. None of the clerks were at their usual stations at their desks, and even fussy little Mr Rossiter was nowhere to be seen.

Was there a bank holiday he hadn't known about? But Psmith would have told him if there were. Curious, Mike pushed open the door to Bickersdyke's office.

He stared.

Psmith - and it was most definitely Psmith, for Mike would have recognised those long lean thighs at a hundred paces - was arranged over Bickersdyke's desk naked; legs spread, arms restrained at the wrists behind his back, and mouth fastened shut with a handkerchief. Mr Rossiter was behind him, his trousers unbuttoned and cock positioned just at Psmith's entrance.

"There we are, Smith," he said amiably as he pushed himself steadily into Psmith. Psmith gave a low moan. "There we are. These City customs take a little getting used to, but you'll get accustomed by and by." He began to fuck Psmith hard enough for the ink pots to rattle. Psmith moaned again, face pressed uncomfortably against the desktop.

Mike flushed with anger. "What beastly rot is this?" he demanded.

The dozen or so other men in the room turned to look at him. Some had their cocks in hand primed to go; others had the reddened, dishevelled look of a person who had already taken their pleasure.

"Pipe down Jackson, you'll have your turn," Bickersdyke said impatiently.

"Just what the dickens is going on?" Mike said angrily. He was roundly ignored. 

"Very nice," Mr Rossiter grunted, gripping Psmith's waist. His hips moved faster and Mike could see Psmith's legs trembling. And even more horrifying, he felt the beginnings of an erection straining in his underwear. "Very nice, very nice indeed. There we are boy, there we are." With a final grunt and groan he finished off, pulling out so quickly that Psmith yelped. His hole looked stretched and used, his muscles clenching against air after the abrupt withdrawal. 

Gosh, Mike wanted him.

Fastening himself away, Mr Rossiter lifted an ink stamp and applied it firmly to Psmith's backside. The stamp mark nestled alongside five others. "DEPOSITED" it said.

"Jackson, you might as well go next. A whippersnapper like you won't take five minutes," Bickersdyke said.

"What if I don't..." Mike protested.

Bickersdyke made a sound of impatience. "Clearly you didn't read a single one of the New Asiatic Bank initiation rules," he said. "Lucky for you Smith did, and offered himself up this morning while you were out."

"Offered himself?" Mike said.

"It was between the two of you," Mr Waller said. "And we all said - didn't we? - that we'd rather perhaps see _you_ undressed. But really, he's surprisingly charming under all the tailoring isn't he?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and Waller stroked a hand over the curve of Psmith's arse while another dragged fingers through his hair and tugged. Psmith flinched, and Mike thought he might faint with rage.

"Get on, Jackson," Bickersdyke said. "We only have till 4 o'clock."

Mike glanced at the clock. Very well then.

He approached the wicket.

Psmith shifted, trying to turn and look at him, his arms straining. His inner thighs were streaked with come and his skin marked up by the grip of careless fingers, and Mike vowed fiercely to himself that no one else but himself would be touching Psmith anywhere from now on. 

"It's alright old chap," he said in a low voice, putting a hand gently on Psmith's side. "I'll make bally sure I'm the last of it." And then so Psmith would not feel quite so exposed and alone, he undressed himself entirely.

"Good lord," someone murmured.

"I told you..."

"Well it's bigger than I..."

"Should have run a book on it."

Mike ignored them all and put his hands gently around Psmith's narrow waist. Ideally he would have turned Psmith to face him. In fact, dash it all, ideally he would be taking Psmith face to face in a nice clean bed, with his mouth free to be kissed and voice free to ramble about whatever Psmith might ramble about while being fucked. Oh, this - as with so many things about the City - was all rot. Mike frowned furiously. If he couldn't kiss him or hear his voice, at the very least he could look at him. Ignoring Bickersdyke's protests, he lifted Psmith up and turned him over.

Psmith's eyes widened as he took in Mike's nudity. Then he looked down at Mike's cock and swallowed, before dragging his gaze back to Mike's. Mike arched an eyebrow in question and Psmith nodded briefly, lying back and lifting his legs. Mike hitched one of Psmith's long legs over his shoulder and began his innings.

He pushed in slowly, knowing he had a full fifteen minutes to fill so no one else got a chance at bat. The feel of Psmith around his cock was heavenly, still so tight despite how wet and used he was. Mike groaned, his body crying out to fuck hard and fast. But instead he took it slow and deep, keeping his eyes fixed on Psmith's until Psmith began to give the kind of sobbing moans that only a man on the edge of a blissful climax could make. Mike, knowing that he was hitting the spot, spent the next few minutes taking Psmith slowly apart with the efficiency and enjoyment of reaching a century at Lords. Fucking him to the very brink he'd pull back and slow down again until the helpless jerks of Psmith's cock subsided, and then he'd begin to fuck again. Psmith could only squirm and make muffled cries, his hair falling in his eyes in an untidy tangle.

Bickersdyke was beside himself with fury. "I shall report this, Jackson. I shall let it be known that you did not take your turn appropriately! This is not the sort of behaviour I expect of a New Asiatic Bank clerk - I will not tolerate it."

The New Asiatic Bank could go hang itself as far as Mike was concerned. 

"Do you want to come, old chap?" he said to Psmith in a low voice. Psmith nodded, eyes fluttering closed as Mike took hold of his cock. "That's it Smith," he murmured, watching Psmith push up against him. "Gosh you look decent like this. Always wondered what you'd look like if I put my cock in you."

At that, Psmith gave a hopeless groan and shot all over Mike's hand and his own chest. Mike watched as the muscles of Psmith's body tensed and relaxed over and again with each pulse of pleasure; he looked so perfect that Mike shuddered and finished too, knees almost giving way with the intensity.

The clock struck four, closely followed by all the City churches ringing the hour. As if under a spell, the remaining clerks tidied themselves and rushed off to deal with the closing of the Exchange. 

Mike pulled out gently and sat Psmith up, releasing him from his bonds.

"I say, Smith," he said. "That was a bit of a sticky wicket." He helped Psmith down from the desk and steadied him.

"You are ever masterful in a crisis, Comrade Jackson," Psmith said breathlessly, looking at him with large eyes. "But I believe Comrade Bickersdyke may disapprove of your methods."

"That old ass can..."

"Nevertheless," Psmith said, dressing quickly. "I believe for the sake of our futures in the City, it may be prudent for us to disappear like the morning dew before the rising sun."

"Right ho," Mike agreed cheerfully, only stopping Psmith a moment to kiss him firmly on the mouth.


End file.
